


I Won't Let You

by norgbelulah



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny was just apparently exceptional at getting sick in hospitals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Let You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariadnes_string](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/gifts).



> Written back in June for aridnes_string for Five Acts. Posting now to fully archive my fic.

Danny came back from the hospital after the Sarin nightmare with a cold, the freaking sniffles. It figured, or so Danny said. He also said the same thing happened after he and Rachel came home with Grace. He was just apparently exceptional at getting sick in hospitals.

Steve hadn’t realized Danny even had the goddamn cold until after they had everything laid out on his kitchen table, beers open, and ready for an exciting night of paperwork.

Of course, they argued about it, like they do. They argued about Danny’s fitness for the stress of doing the paperwork, about Steve’s relative ability to complete the paperwork himself, about Danny’s imminent need to get the fuck home and go to bed, and finally about the comfort of Steve’s leather couch where Danny ended up crashing because he looked like he was about to keel over anyway.

Steve can’t quite remember which side of each argument he was actually on, but he’s fairly satisfied that Danny’s staying, instead of attempting to drive home, late at night, with a head cold of mysterious origin.

He is however a little disappointed he couldn’t convince his partner to take some freaking medication. But stubborn Danny Williams had said it would likely be gone in the morning, no fuss, no muss.

When Steve is awoken in the middle of the night by a repetitive banging sound, he wonders if Danny wasn’t being just a little bit cocky. Well, first he wonders what the hell Danny is doing.

He finds his partner on the floor, sweat soaked and loose-limbed, leaning against Steve’s fridge and pounding his head every three seconds or so against the hard aluminum door.

Once the full picture of what is actually happening is processed by Steve’s sleep-deprived brain, he rushes over, crying, “Jesus Christ, Danny,” and seizing Danny’s face between his hands to make him quit doing that.

Danny’s skin is hot, hotter than Steve had felt it get under a fairly serious sunburn a few weeks back, and Steve knows this little bout of the sniffles isn’t anything to sneeze at any longer. Danny puts his arms up like he’s going to shove Steve away from him, but there’s no strength behind it and, disturbingly, no intelligent recognition in his eyes, either.

He keeps trying to jerk his head out of Steve’s grasp, in that same repetitive motion, prompting Steve to soothe, “Hey… hey, Danno, calm down. It’s okay. It’s just me.” Steve gets his face real close to Danny, and looks hard into his eyes. “It’s just me, okay?”

Finally some recognition does enter Danny’s expression and he smiles weakly, what little fight was in him snuffing out like a candle. “Heeey,” he draws out in a quiet, breathless voice, “M’Garrett to the rescue.”

“Right,” Steve agrees. “What are you doing down here on the floor, buddy?” He tries to stop his hands from moving across Danny’s flushed cheeks or from sinking into the sweat-dampened hair.

“I can’t get up,” Danny mumbles with this crazy desperate edge to his voice and something like real fear in his eyes. “I think they broke my legs.”

“Danny, man, your legs are fine. No one broke them. You’re at my house, on the floor, in front of the fridge.”

“Then, why won’t they work?”

Steve tamps down on the rising panic within him that this is way more serious than he had originally thought and takes a deep breath. “Okay, Danno, I want you to think for a minute, like really hard, because if you persist with this, I’m going to have to take you to a hospital.” At that Danny’s eyes go wide and Steve continues, “I know, right? You just got back from there, and we don’t want to do this again and again in some kind of vicious cycle, do we? You remember earlier, right? You had a cold, crashed on my couch. Then what happened?”

Danny just blinks at him for a long moment and pulls himself up, pressing closer to the fridge door. “Fridge was cold… is cold,” he corrects himself slowly, like speaking takes a special effort, or maybe it’s just that making sense does. “I ‘member waking up hot. Hot like now. I wanted…” he pauses and Steve smiles at him, encouraging. “I wanted something to drink. Then…my legs didn’t work anymore, or… my head…or something.”

Steve draws his hand across Danny’s forehead and then around to side, feeling for the knot that might have already formed. Danny winces and tries to pull away, but Steve won’t let him. “Do you remember why you hit your head like that?”

“Wanted to wake you up, I think,” Danny replied in a small voice. “Different pounding… better…then, things got… wrong…” he mumbles and trails off.

Steve realizes this is probably the tail end of Danny making sense again for at least a little while. He cups his hand around the back of Danny’s too hot neck, pulling his attention back from where it had wandered towards the ceiling.

“All right, Danno, let’s get you to bed.”

It’s not as difficult as Steve was anticipating, getting Danny into his bed at least in this fevered and pliable state. He wasn’t going to even think about other ways he wanted Danny there, not tonight anyway. And not with Rachel back in the picture.

He grabs a bottle of prescription strength ibuprofen from an old injury from his medicine cabinet and a glass of water from the tap. Returning and handing it to Danny without a word.  
His partner takes the meds without even asking what they are and Steve smiles, thinking how much easier his life would be if decision-making was always this painless around Danny. He pulls Danny’s feet up on the bed, and lets his hands linger there, watching his partner smile sleepily up at him.

“Steve,” Danny says, like there’s something on his mind.

“Yeah, Danno?”

And Danny responds, casual as you please. “We could still fuck, you know?”

Well, that certainly hadn’t been what he was expecting. “Um, what?”

“You a’ me,” he says a little more urgently as he probably realizes Steve had been caught off guard. “We can still fuck. I don’t think Rach will mind. Might wan’ to watch akchully. We used to do that… sometimes.”

Steve knows his eyes are huge in his head, but he’s trying to process what Danny’s saying, trying to get past the way he’s talking like they had already fucked instead of just tiptoeing around the issue like a couple of pussies, let alone the idea that Danny had fucked guys before, with his wife’s permission and occasional participation.

“Christ, Danno,” is all he can muster in response.

Danny frowns and a little clarity returns to his eyes again. He rubs his palms across his face and then furrows his brows at Steve. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding a little lost, “did I just proposition you… just now?”

Steve tightens his lips and gets himself under control. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. And when Danny makes to speak again, he leans forward, far over Danny’s prone body, and presses two fingers to his cracked lips. “I said, don’t worry. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“What if I don’t remember?” Danny asks when Steve releases his lips.

Steve smiles, getting used to the idea. “I won’t let you forget, Danno.”


End file.
